Buongiorno Cinque Terre
After the initial shock (I doubt you’d ever get used to it!) our 7am clanging church bells got us up and moving this morning. Rather than the early train, we opted for the more leisurely departure time of 10:30, giving us time to enjoy our final snippets of time in this incredibly beautiful place. Looking around as we wandered the town, Toby observed that the views here are ‘ridiculous’. Down every street, with every turn of the head there’s a postcard- perfect vista, too good to be true. A place we’ll never forget.
Given that we had about 300kg of luggage* between us we did the sensible thing and ordered a taxi to get us to the station, primarily for the bags! Ross and Sam walked (we didn’t all fit) and the rest of us piled into one of only three taxis that operate in the whole town of Varenna. The cabbie had lived in this gorgeous, tranquil town all his life and had great English so we chatted as we waited for the boys. He told us the actual population of Varenna was only 850 people and that in winter, when the majority of tourists have disappeared, it’s very quiet; most of the hotels, shops and restaurants closed. He told us also, the 10:30 train out of Varenna was by far the most popular with tourists so we should be sure to cross the tracks, walk down one end and stake our claim for prime position.
Contrary to our usual practice, we had left ourselves ample time before the train was due to leave and the station was somewhat deserted. We thought the cabbie must have exaggerated about it being such a popular train. Ross took his laptop into the shade and checked his emails and we had a coffee and milled around. We hadn’t heeded the advice of our friendly taxi driver and before we knew it, the platform was like Pitt Street, people shoving and pushing, wheelie bags colliding all over the place. It was a tight squeeze to remain inside the recommended yellow lines and as the already full train pulled into the station, we found ourselves in the no-man’s land between doors. Don’t you hate that?! Ross went into survivor mode, hauling our bags onto the train in record time and Sam did an awesome job finding spots to stash them all in the carriage. We found some scattered seats and all managed to plant our derrières for the hour long ride.
Before arriving at each stop, there was an announcement, first in Italian then in the best Queen’s English. The only problem was, the place names were still slotted in, George Donikian style, with the thickest of thick Italian accents. The announcer would say, in his Duke Of Edinburgh accent: “Thank you for travelling with us today. Please note, the next stop for this train will be [insert unintelligible Italian place name here].” Consequently we had no idea when to get off so we opted to just follow the throng. Thankfully this turned out well and we disembarked to find ourselves once again in the crazy Milano Centrale. Having learnt from our mistakes, Sam and Ross took the reins and found us the right connecting train, which had allocated seats this time, with plenty of time up our sleeves. Legends.
Sam, Toby and Maisy passed the time with a movie and with time to read and relax, the 3 hour journey from Milan to Monterosso Al Mare was over before we knew it. The seats on this leg were much more comfy and we even had tray tables like on a plane. We had a guy wheeling a cart up and down selling tuna or ham rolls and cold libations – certainly a step up from the last train.
Monterosso station was bustling! Holiday-makers young and old were EVERYWHERE! We had expected it to be crowded but maybe not quite this busy. I spied a young Australian couple we’d seen on the ferry in Lake Como and even though we’d not exchanged words before, we looked at each other with a knowing nod and an understated simultaneous ‘G’Day’. Sam checked his maps and it was a 15 minute walk to our apartment. Though it was overcast it was still steamy and we worked up a good lather pulling our bags through a tunnel and up the narrow streets to our destination. A door between restaurants, right in the thick of all the action, led up the steepest marble staircase on the planet where we met Hedda, our smiley host, who showed us around. The 3 bedroom apartment is way bigger than we’d expected, has a really modern bathroom, great kitchen and cool, ancient exposed beams in the ceiling. There’s a ‘secret’ miniature door leading from Maisy’s room to the kitchen – every little girl’s dream – and she’s quietly chuffed about the presence of a bidet.
Monterosso Al Mare, the last of the five beautiful seaside towns that make up the Cinque Terre is as picturesque as its pictures suggested. Some enterprising Italians have a roaring trade going, renting banana lounges and umbrellas on the beach so that entire sections of prime beach spots have been cordoned off, usable only for a fee. There are still some public areas but naturally they are more crowded. The coastline is rocky and a couple of big, pointed rocks jut out of the ocean dramatically just off the shore. Our enthusiasm to explore was high and we discovered a winding path that climbed around the headland, looking back over the town and the beach. The sweeping views were incredible.
We found a laundromat just a few metres up the road from our place and met the sprightly proprietor who was in command of this organised chaos. In a conversation made up entirely of hand signals, punctuated by the odd “gratzie!” we were able to leave our washing for her to take care of, coming back at an allocated time to pick it up. It was great not having to wait around and she was so accommodating and nice.
While the patisserie had been our weak spot in France, our Achilles heel in Italy is the Gelateria. Italian gelato is so good! We instituted a happy hour for gelato this afternoon and cooled down with some chocolatey fruity flavours. The town of Monterosso Al Mare is a hive of activity. It’s narrow streets are brimming with racks of clothing, hats, boxes of freshly-picked lemons, food stalls, artists, souvenir shops and outdoor eateries. There’s a big, stripey cathedral in the centre of town, which seems to ring its bells every 15 minutes for some reason, not boding well for our prospective sleep-ins. The colourful rendered buildings are deliciously aged, with chunks of render missing, cracks and faded exteriors giving so much character. All the shutters and awnings here are dark green and there’s a real rustic feel to the village. Simpler in design to the buildings in France and Spain, many of their facades have been painted to add the missing flourishes and balconies. Thick green grapevines and vibrant bougainvilleas drape archways and pergolas.
Dinner tonight was at an authentic little Italian Pizzeria, highly recommended by Hedda, our landlady. The pizzas were scrumptious and after swotting up, immersing myself in the ‘language of love’, using the handy Italian phrase book at the apartment, I tried out my new skills on the attentive waiter. Ordering a ‘funghi (foon-ghee) pizza’ was hardly a stretch but it felt good anyway. We all laughed when he returned with my dinner and as he was placing it before me, said in perfect English, “here is your mushroom pizza, lady!” Maybe I’ll get a bit more avventuroso with the local lingo today. I have noticed that, when in doubt, just say “prego”. Ross reckons it’s a kind of Italian “Hakuna Matata’. There was a delectable array of homemade cakes and tortes on offer for dessert and in the absence of a dessert menu, we were led by our waiter to peruse the cabinet. The proud Italian mumma responsible for all these treats beamed as Ross kissed his fingers and proclaimed her creations to be ‘belissimo!’
*May be a slight exaggeration
